


Don't Get Caught

by tentacledog



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bathroom Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, coitus almostus interruptus, teens doing incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledog/pseuds/tentacledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford’s minding his own business in the back of the schoolbus that morning when Stanley drops into the seat next to his, slings an arm over his shoulders, and whispers, “Study hour is ass hour. Don’t forget,” with a stupid <i>smirk</i>, like they’re not in public.</p><p>---</p><p>Stan and Ford fight midweek boredom by trying something <i>very</i> naughty in their high school bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Get Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [vermillionsketcher](http://vermillionsketcher.tumblr.com)'s [awesome art](http://vermillionsketcher.tumblr.com/post/128979498780/ya-know-whats-great-bottom-stanley-ya-know-what). This is lazily unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own.

Stanford’s minding his own business in the back of the schoolbus that morning when Stanley drops into the seat next to his, slings an arm over his shoulders, and whispers, “Study hour is ass hour. Don’t forget,” with a stupid _smirk_ , like they’re not in public. Stanford elbows him to shut him up, trying not to imagine every single one of their classmates whipping around to stare at them in the back of the bus. He’s already hyperaware and trying not to be of the condom shoved down into the very bottom of his left front pocket. Worrying about whether it’s gonna crinkle audibly in front of the whole school is making it weigh about as much on his mind as an unsolved equation would, he doesn’t need his stupid brother making it worse.

Stanley chuckles and lets off goading him and Stanford sighs in relief. When he puts his hands down on the pleather bus seats his palms are clammy and squeaky from sweat.

\---

Three hours later, both Pines twins have the same study period. It’s Wednesday, so Stanford’s already done with his homework for the rest of the week and Stanley isn’t gonna do his. Instead the two of them are hidden in the right-hand stall of the most deserted boys’ bathroom on school grounds, doing something teachers would more than whoop their asses for.

The condom wrapper that made Stanford itch with nervousness all through the first three periods is lying discarded on the floor. It crinkles when he steps on it, accidentally, distracted, because Stanley’s in front of him, bent over, one hand braced on the tile wall, the other one on the toilet, making hoarse noises under his breath while Stanford grips his hips in sweaty hands and pushes his rubber-wrapped dick into him. Ford’s doing it slow, nervously, trying not to hurt his brother. Trying not to blow his own load early, if he’s going to be honest. He’s biting his own lip furiously. Stanley’s slippery-wet from the tub of Crisco he stashed in the bottom of his backpack with a wink on the way to school this morning. Both of them had awkwardly fingered him with it, kissing pressed against the bathroom door to keep it shoved shut, until he was slippery and open and, uh, relaxed, and he was making these happy noises like he normally only makes when looking at magazines of cute girls and – now he’s, h h he’s soft and hot and tight around the head of Stanford’s dick, even through rubber, in a way Ford’s own fist or even Stanley’s has never been. Ford can smell Stan sweating through his t-shirt and wants to say it doesn’t make him crazy, but it kinda does. He wants to bury his nose in Stan’s shoulder except- ah, fuck, his shoes squeak on the tile as he slips inside Stan’s ass and getting any closer is the kind of spatial engineering he’s too shaken to handle right now. 

“I can hear your IQ rattling up there,” says Stanley, reaching back to tap the side of Stanford’s face awkwardly. “Stop thinking and fuck me, Six- hggh!” He breaks off when Ford thrusts in, biting at the back of his neck. 

The two of them have only tried this a few times, never anywhere nearly this public, and it’s kinda freaking Stanford out, as much as Stanley’s clearly into it. Stan stops rocking his hips back against Ford’s to give himself a little squeeze, making that low creaky sound he does when he’s turned on. Ford’s grip on his hips slips a little bit when Stan squirms and Ford thrusts into him harder than he meant to, making a really stupid groan, and Stan makes this noise like – fuck. It’s a good noise. He’s ruddy all up the back of his neck in that way that Ford loves, and Ford’s building up to really fucking him in short hard thrusts that together they’d figured out really _work_ once they get going, making Stan twitch and jerk his shoulders, his hands slipping against the tile wall. 

“Fuck, fuck, ahhh, Stanley, Stanley,” Stanford knows he’s gasping, no indiscretion at all, when right in the middle of a moan Stanley reaches back and slaps a hand over his mouth because the door to the bathroom creaks.

Ford’s guts go icy. Both of them are frozen like awkward chickens, caught stuck mid-coitus. Ford can’t think of what to do. He can _feel_ the intensity with which Stan’s listening to the intruders, the muscles of his brother’s back rigid, ready.

Two, no- three voices have come into the boys’ bathroom, laughing, their footsteps slapping the tile. Ford’s whole body twitches nervously, dick included, and dizzily he can see Stan’s jaw working in response to that tiny motion. _Pines twins caught fucking in the boys’ bathroom,_ Ford thinks crazily, Stan’s sweaty hand over his mouth – it’s the hand that was on the toilet, he realizes, but he doesn’t even care right now. Both of them stay still and silent, breathless, listening, like a perverse version of hours in their childhood spent waiting out bullies, hidden in their boat, until the intruders left-

Two of the students go to pee at the urinals. Under the cover of sound Stanley moves, pushing Ford back until Ford slips out of him with a little noise that he can’t quite swallow. Stan shoves Ford’s clothed ass down onto the seat and throws himself into Ford’s lap, hooks one of his own feet up out of sight on the toilet paper dispenser. He’s just lifting his other foot out of sight when the third guy comes into the stall next door. 

The moment stretches out, elastic like taffy while Stanley slowly sinks against Stanford’s body and the guy next door does his business, grunting. 

Stanford’s brother is kind of crushing him, and he’s going to be grossed out in twenty minutes because he’s sitting on a toilet with his pants up, but right now relief and fear are surging in his chest hard enough to block that out. It’s not a perfect disguise – what if someone wonders why his pants aren’t down around his ankles? But at least only one pair of feet can be seen. _We won’t get caught,_ Ford tells himself. Nobody at this school’s curious enough to check it out, but what if, what if. He’s got his arms squeezed around Stanley, helping him stay in his lap. Stan’s left foot, the one that he’s keeping in the air by himself, rises and falls slowly, skidding against the side of the stall as Stanley strains to keeps it pressed there. Ford can hear him breathing hard and fast and quiet, nose smashed against his brother’s sweaty ear.

And it’s not – it should be turning him off, right, that they’re inches from getting caught, but –

He can feel Stanley’s heart hammering under his wrists, and in this position Ford’s dick, still thick and chubby, is pressed against the crack of his half-bared ass, slippery with lube. It’s a lewd reminder of what they were doing. Ford squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. 

He drops one hand down to squeeze Stanley’s crotch tentatively and Stan lets out a choked breath, thighs jerking. Even this close to getting caught, Ford’s not the only one who’s still hard. Teenage hormones, Ford thinks dizzily, fondles his brother a little more, touching curiously, sweat prickling on his neck. He can see Stanley slowly flushing red again, brightness creeping up his ear. Ford pushes the folds of Stan’s boxers aside, barely breathing, trying not to make a sound, and rubs his fingers over the head of Stan’s dick. Stan’s fist flies to his mouth. Ford can see him biting it, shoulders shaking, when he touches the tacky wetness at the head. Fuck. He can’t help but roll his hips against his brother’s ass. Just a little.

Stan’s lips move, cracked voice barely audible under the sound of the guy next door flushing. “Sixer. What’re you doing?” 

_Pines twins caught fucking in the boys’ bathroom_ , Stanford thinks again, with a different cadence this time, heart swooping crazily in his chest with disgust and arousal. _not fucking, fucking **each other**_. It scares him but his dick’s pulsing so hard he feels like he could bust a nut on Stanley’s back just from thinking it. Ford squirms.

Ford rubs his nose against Stan’s shoulder, trying not to whimper, thinks, _is this okay??_ at his twin when he closes his hand around Stan’s dick, but Stan’s already nodding, breath bursting, muffled, behind his own hand. Ford licks his shoulder and starts stroking him off, slowly, awkward around the clutch of their bodies. He can see Stan’s leg shaking in midair and it’s so fucking gratifying. 

Ford squeezes him again and Stanley’s dick twitches hard his hand, his knee jumping, foot skidding with an audible thunk against the side of the stall.

The guy in the next stall says “What?” and they both freeze, barely breathing.

There’s a long silence where Ford can tell this guy’s listening, waiting to hear something else. His two friends are already gone and Stanford’s thinking, _go, just join them, they’re waiting for you._ Stanley’s knee is shaking and Ford silently puts one hand under his thigh, strains to help him keep it up. Neither of them think to say anything normal until, shit, it’s too late, it would probably be weird, and – 

Finally the guy in the other stall grunts, says “Freak,” casually, like he’s settled on that explanation, and the stall door thuds as he walks away. Stan’s shaking, hands still over his mouth while they both listen to the rush of water as the guy washes his hands, and when the bathroom door shuts behind the intruder Ford realizes Stan’s laughing.

“What? What?” Ford asks.

Stan lets his feet hit the floor with a relieved sigh. “You were muttering under your breath, nerd,” Stanley says, grinning over his shoulder. “’Don’t look, don’t look,’ and that invisibility spell from your nerd game, I think.”

“I-” Ford fumbles for a retort. “You weigh a fucking ton, jerk. Get off of me,” he says lamely, but Stan just cracks his neck and rolls his hips back against Ford’s, ass a slick slide all along the length of Ford’s dick, his hole still open wide and catching against the head. Ford stifles a gasp.

“C’mon,” Stan says. “Gotta do it the Pines way. We finish what we started.”

Ford has to clutch his arms around his brother and bury his face in Stan’s shoulder, hot-red. “Fuck, are you nuts-?” 

Stan laughs, harsh and turned on. “C’mon, Poindexter, don’t leave me hanging here.” Stanley grabs Stanford’s palm, lays it back over his warm red dick and pulses his hips up into the pressure of their combined hands with a groan. Ford might be choking right now, head still thick with whatever horny madness came over him when they were almost caught, but he spreads his fingers on his brother’s dick, palming Stanley eagerly, jacks him off with Stanley’s encouraging hand shaking along on top of his. Ford can feel Stan’s thighs trembling through the material of his jeans. The sound he’s making, jerking off his brother’s dick, is echoing in the bathroom _schlick, shlick, shkk_ , so fast and messy the noise is bouncing off the tiles. Stanford presses his face to thick muscle of Stanley’s shoulder and shudders, swallowing hard. Stan’s throat is bared when he rolls his head back onto Ford’s shoulder, panting, his hips twitching up into Ford’s grip, and Ford bites him hard, crazed-feeling, and Stanley bursts out a groan, the first loud sound Ford’s been able to get him to make.

“Please,” Ford’s whispering, trying to rock his hips for pressure. 

Stan grunts, “Okay, all right all right already,” throat working, lets Ford give him a last pump with a wistful moan, then pushes Ford’s hand off his dick. Spits into his own hand and reaches back to spread himself for Stanford with two fingers.

“Okay, one second,” Ford mutters shakily into the back of Stan’s neck, wrestling with his own dick and trying to sound in-control, and he slams his eyes shut when Stan sinks back onto him, trying not to picture it, his dick pushing deep into Stanley’s ass. He tries not to remember either how good it must feel, how good it is to ride on top, legs stretched, with his brother’s dick pressing into him, strange and open and deep. He can’t smell anything but his brother, not even the astringent and scuzzy bathroom cleaner, the bright hot salty tang in the nape of Stanley’s neck blotting out all Ford’s other senses. 

Stanley grunts deeply when he settles his weight onto Ford’s hips, dick all the way inside him, gets himself balanced with one hand on Ford’s knee and then rides him rough and shallow and sloppy, spread knees braced against the stall walls for support, legs shaking. Stanley’s absolutely crushing Ford by now but Ford doesn’t even feel it through the haze of adrenaline, grapples Stan’s hips with his sweaty hands and tries to fuck him, barely able to buck up into his heavier brother, feet scrabbling on the tile for traction. Stan’s so fucking tight that Ford can barely take it. Stan’s clamped a hand back over Ford’s, sloppily jerking himself off fast, rocking his ass on Ford’s dick with sharp shaky circles that barely get liftoff. 

Ford pushes up into him as much as he can, eyes squeezed shut, lungs burning as his brother wrings him out. Stanley gulps “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ford- oh fuck”, knee thudding rhythmically into the wall as he rocks his hips, and Stanford comes, gasping into his brother’s hair. Stanley groans, clenching, knocks the back of his head into Ford’s nose and glasses, says “Ow!” and comes messily all over both their hands.

Stanford’s head is ringing from the skull collision and he’s clutching his brother and panting for breath as he comes down, mouth smashed wetly against Stanley’s neck. Stan’s half-sprawled across him, body shaking. Then Stan says, “Pretty good, Sixer,” and Ford can hear the grin in his voice.

“You’re a beast,” Ford groans into his shoulder, wrung-out, and the side of Stan’s face that he can see turns pink. 

“I wasn’t just gonna give up in the middle,” Stanley says defensively, and Ford chuckles, and trembles, and clutches him. 

Stanford’s nose might be a little bruised, but he carries the slick taste of the sweat on the back of Stan’s neck on his tongue for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd forgotten how limited pre-1980's lube choices were!  
> Don't worry about the Crisco, Ma Pines won't notice it's missing from her kitchen. She hates baking anyway.


End file.
